The Wolves of Highgarden
by Blasta6000
Summary: A butterfly flaps its wings and the world changes... In a world where Mace Tyrell dies during Robert's Rebellion but Brandon Stark survives, what happens to Eddard Stark? And what happens to the Reach?
1. Part 1

**i) Eddard**

It had been such a beautiful morning over Blackwater Bay, the early light setting the water ablaze with orange fire. As the bluebirds and blackbirds sung, the residents of the city stirred from their rest and attempted to ignore the signs of a sack as they went about their waking rituals. Yawns and groans were the only sounds in this quiet hour, most men and women considering it far too early to have a conversation. Babies were the exception of course, but when were they not?

In the castle on the highest hill however, a conversation had been going on for hours; one that would decide the shape of the future...

"Surely this is folly Robert?" asked Eddard, "The Reachmen would never accept a man from elsewhere as their overlord, let alone a 'northern savage'." He didn't consider himself one of course, but he'd heard the comments muttered by courtiers as he walked by.

"They wouldn't accept anyone as their overlord Ned, that's the problem" replied his friend, "The Tyrells themselves _barely_ held onto power, but with them gone now we risk having the kingdom fall into anarchy." He shrugged. "Or so Jon tells me." The war had not changed Robert, though the combined influence of Jon and him was hopefully good enough to keep him focused on his responsibilities as King.

Eddard still turned to face the newly titled Hand of the King with a raised eyebrow however, Jon's mouth twitching in response. "You would know more if you had listened to me better" he suggested, "We did spend an hour talking last night." Robert grunted.

"Surely there's a better solution than giving it to...well, to _me_?" Ned asked, "I've barely visited the Reach! Perhaps the Hightowers could-" Robert coughed.

"Giving the Hightowers any more power is a madman's idea, Eddard" Jon cut in, "The Dance of the Dragons told us that, they cannot be trusted with power."

"Then perhaps the Redwynes-"

"Too weak and unrespected by their fellow houses. As are the Florents, the Oakhearts, the Rowans and any other Reachman house you care to mention!" Robert boomed, "They'd be the first among equals Ned, not the leader the Reach _needs_." The Storm King took a swig from his glass. "When the next war comes - _and it will_ \- the Reach will need a strong leader to band behind. Even more crucially, I'll need a friend there too, as even with the territory I've taken for the Stormlands removed, the Reach is still a massive war machine on its own. I will not allow a Targaryen loyalist to sit in Highgarden."

"You have agreed for your future heir to marry Rhaenys, Robert" Jon reminded him, "That should solve any doubts over your legitimacy." The Stormlander scowled.

"I remember" he muttered, "But I still say that it would be better if-"

Eddard interrupted with another argument. "I won't have any legitimacy as Lord of Highgarden, the Starks have had no relations to the Gardeners. How do you plan on solving that?"

Robert shrugged. "Mace Tyrell has a sister, she's reasonably pretty...I don't see the problem." Eddard thought briefly of Ashara Dayne...and then stopped that thought, remembering her cold body and the stillborn child of his brother.

"The 'sister' is called Janna, Eddard" said Jon gently, "She's about your age, unmarried and likely a beauty as Robert says if she takes after her mother." He sighed. "I know this is hard for you, after-"

"I'll do it" Eddard cut in to forestall Jon's coming speech, "But I want to meet the girl first." In the worst case scenario it would allow him time to think of an escape plan. But Ned still needed some time and so stood up and said "If that's everything?"

"Yes..." Robert said, looking at him slightly concerned.

The two men blinked as Ned stormed out, muttering about taking a nap.

 **ii) Janna**

The wedding was very beautiful; flowers, fruits and architecture combining into a display pretty enough that even Olenna Tyrell, 'the Queen of Thorns' had admitted that it wasn't _that bad_. Though that wasn't to say the Tyrells were happy. _Sure_ , they'd consented to the match and _sure_ Janna had gladly taken her husband-to-be's hand as they strolled through the gardens together; but it didn't change the fact that they were now prisoners in their own home, or that the punishment for refusal would have been exile or _worse_. Her betrothed acted the charmer to be sure, but underneath all that he was certainly the same as any other rebel.

The head of those rebels, Robert Baratheon was acting as prime witness for Janna's marriage; accompanied of course by the northern whore who had managed to tempt Rhaegar Targaryen away from his bride. Janna hadn't believed in the Rebels' story of kidnap, she couldn't believe that the noble Rhaegar would ever commit such atrocities. She had never spoken to him herself - more's the pity - only admiring him from afar and dreaming of a wedding cloak of black and red - never one of white and grey.

That being said...seeing Lyanna Stark now, bruised and with a curtain of hair hiding her face...she did wonder. Just wonder whether perhaps there was some truth behind 'the Tower of Joy' story. The new King certainly wouldn't allow her out of his sight, though the rumours stated that he was yet to take her to bed for some reason.

With the absence of her father, brother or other uncles; it had fallen to her uncle Gormon to escort her into the sept for her wedding. She scowled at the embarrassment, for her Uncle - technically a Grand Maester now - leaned heavily on a stick as he had done for years, seemingly so weak that it appeared she was escorting him rather than he assisting her. But she didn't say anything, knowing full well of the threat that hung over her remaining family's heads.

She doubted the Rebels would bother to make it quick.

"Who comes before the Seven?" boomed the Septon of Highgarden, an young man who himself was androgynous enough to be mistaken for a girl. Janna worried if he was prettier than she was, quietly sure that her hatred would be shining through even as she affixed a fake smile to her face.

"Father, Smith, Warrior. Mother, Maiden, Crone. Stranger. I am hers and she is mine..."

Janna would do her duty in bearing the Stark a son. She'd be the devoted wife; caring, kind, gentle. That was what she had promised Jon Arryn.

"...from this day until my last."

But she would never forget her brother's death. _That she swore._

 **iii) Olenna**

The sound of laughter and giggling drifted up to her as Olenna reclined on the balcony of her chambers. They were the same ones she'd used since her husband's death, even the rise of the 'Green' Starks had not changed that. Mace had thought that they would give her an excellent view of the gardens and allow her to breathe in the scent of thousands of flowers at once without leaving bed. Perhaps even one day allow his grandmother to watch her grandchildren play amongst the hedges and trees.

 _He was right, though probably not in the way he expected._

Little Robb Stark seemed to already believe that he was the greatest knight in the world. At the tender age of seven he had barely noticed his mother's absence - Janna still recuperating after the birth of her third child Lyarra - and so delighted in charging around with his younger brother Luthor, playing doubtless at being his namesake and their father. In a way it painfully reminded Olenna of her own children, particularly since both of the boys took after their mother in looks. Mace had never been that adventurous to be honest, but even he had delighted in the idea of knights and battle as a youth. Not that it had helped him in the end, when he found himself on a real battlefield with no plan and no protection.

If the mother of the boys had been around, she would have confiscated the sticks they were treating as swords. Janna still remembered her brother's fate, treating the topic with a seriousness that Olenna had once thought her not to possess. She had been hardly the equal of Mace in foolishness, but still painfully naive and with none of her mother's wisdom or wit. Now however she seemed to have grown into her cunning, with her rare smiles always carrying a hint of falseness behind them - except for when she was around her children of course, Janna having always adored the young. She'd fussed over Mace's son before he died in the crib...

 _She had wanted to name Robb for him and Lyarra for poor Alerie. But why should the Lord of Highgarden mourn a women he's never met?_

A cough brought Olenna's attention back to the present. It was one of her young maids, Daena Peake - a girl whose father was undoubtedly livid about only having one daughter far out of Robb's age range. Other lords of the Reach had managed to conceive daughters of an acceptable age, Talla Tarly and Ashara Hightower for instance; but Lord Peake had married poorly and so was met with multiple miscarriages from his wife's rotting womb. Or maybe his seed was just weak like Jon Arryn's. He was hardly a young man after all.

"My Lady" said the girl with a curtsy, "Lord Eddard requires your presence in his solar." She had a quiet voice, more akin to a mouse than the three great castles House Peake laid claims on.

Olenna rose from her chair, reaching for a cane styled after both flowers and grapes; an acknowledgment of her roots in the Arbor that her husband had bequeathed to her for when her back was aching from carrying a child. She hadn't been pregnant for decades now of course, but had kept the stick into her old age - perhaps as a small reminder of the original Luthor's better traits. It was certainly well used, as even the short distance to the Lord's solar - all family apartments were on the same floor - would strain her spine that had never recovered from a fall three years prior.

"Lead on" Olenna commanded.

It was presumably very important if Eddard Stark wished to speak to her in private. The man was rarely in Highgarden, as preferred to spend most of the year in King's Landing assisting King Robert with managing the realm. This meant he rarely saw his family, though Olenna knew that in Janna's case neither considered this an issue as she refused to admit that there was any justice behind the rebellion all these years later. She certainly would not travel with him to the capital, after offending the quiet Queen during one meeting. He had taken his eldest son there on a previous occasion however; likely to break him out of Janna's overbearing control, to make a man of an overly feminine boy. The woman had raged for weeks over that perceived slight, revealing a bitter side that even Olenna had not recognised.

 _Especially when Robb returned a changed boy._

Janna had always loved children, but she had also expected them to agree with her and act the way she believed was best. When they didn't...

 **iv) Luthor**

"And thanks to those crossbowmen you've forgotten to take out, I intercept your king and send him to the Seven Hells." Robb grinned and flicked over the golden piece, part of the cryvase set gifted from House Lannister on Luthor's wedding day. "I win, again."

"You cheated" Luthor muttered, "You're meant to try and preserve your units, not waste them in suicidal charges just to break my lines."

"But was it a waste?" Robb asked, "I still won after all." He smirked; "I consider that rule guidelines truthfully, if you're afraid to loose a single man then how could you win a war? There must always be sacrifices in war brother; otherwise how would we know the cost of battle and of bloodshed?" For a second his eyes turned cold, undoubtedly in memory of the Ironborn assault two years past and the heavy toll it had taken on the coastlines. No one could have predicted that Balon Greyjoy would be mad enough to rebel in the way he did, taking Tywin Lannister's death as a sign that Westeros was weak - only to be proven utterly wrong in an orgy of violence that cost his entire family their lives. Robb had personally decapitated the Kraken's only daughter with her own axe, finding himself facing a Ironborn force twice as big as his own while on the way back from Oldtown.

Many called him a tactical genius, so much so that the offers for his hand had increased tenfold in the last 14 months.

"How is _Ashara_?" Luthor asked, referring to the Hightower girl that currently demanded Robb's attention. His brother grunted.

"Moody as ever" he replied, "Her father wanted the wedding to happen three months ago but I...I will wait until father is better before making my decision." Something in his expression was sad, not just for their sick father but for...

"I thought you wanted to marry her?" Luthor asked, "You've been courting her for over a year."

"I do...I do" Robb replied, seemingly nervous; "But...at times I get the feeling she doesn't love me back. Oh she'll laugh at my jokes and smile at me when we're-" He coughed. "I feel manipulated Luthor, I don't _trust_ her as I once did. I'm sure..."

"Sure of what?"

"That she's lying to me when we kiss." He groaned. "If father was around I would ask him for advice, but since he's fallen ill I cannot bear the possibility of bringing this up. He was so happy for me to find the love that he and mother couldn't..."

Luthor grimaced, as he too knew the feeling. When he had been growing up, he'd been uncomfortably aware of the rift between his parents. He knew it was a byproduct of the fall of House Tyrell, the event that seen his father ascend to the lordship of Highgarden and marry his mother in the first place. He only knew that however, since neither of his parents would talk about the rebellion - his mother would turn snappish and his father would only remind him of his duty to Robb and House Greenstark. They wouldn't talk to each other about it either or anything else for that matter, only speaking in cold and sharp voices about 'Robb's violence' and 'Lyarra's wildness' and his own 'preferences'.

Both of them seemed to forget about his own marriage to Alerie Rowan and her pregnancy. He might not enjoy the company of women admittedly, but he was a Greenstark and would perform his duties to the letter. They were both acting as if he was still fondling stable-boys and squires, something he hadn't done for years. What right had either of them to judge him?

"You could always ask someone else for advice, Robb" he said, "We do have a large family."

"But with very few male members, Luthor. All of our uncles either died in the Rebellion or live up in the cold North." He smiled, "I did actually ask King Robert on our visit to the capital, to see if he had any advice."

"And..." Luthor prodded.

"I ended up in a brothel before sundown and ended up walking in on Lya." Luthor laughed. That sounded a lot like their sister, a wild and fierce thing who spent most of her time with the Sand Snakes and rendered Aunt Catelyn to a gibbering wreck. Father had spoiled her as a child and in return she adored him more than either of her siblings. They were always getting strange gifts delivered by courier, nicknacks she had found across the Narrow Sea and beyond.

But she hadn't spoken to mother in a year, pilling more wood on a pyre that never stopped growing.

Robb and he talked for some longer, only for the former to excuse himself to seek out Ashara; checking with one of her fellow handmaidens for her whereabouts. The specific handmaiden was Talla Tarly, one of many noble daughters who had been conceived in the Reach for the heir of Highgarden's consideration (Ashara Hightower being another). I wasn't jealous in this case, who knows what I would have done with all that attention. A few might be decent sorts, but most were bound to be utter shits.

 **v) Ashara**

She had been born to marry the heir to Highgarden, Ashara knew - conceived, dressed, presented and named in a fashion ideal for the attentions of Robb and Eddard Greenstark. Once this inevitably happened, she had one task: conceive a _Hightower_ heir for the Kingdom of the Reach and bring her family back to the overwhelming power denied since the Dance of Dragons. If necessary - though of course it wouldn't be - she was to seduce Robb Greenstark; sneak into his bedchamber, allow him a glimpse of her perfect form, even let him take her maidenhood early - whatever proved necessary. She could not allow someone else to take this prize from her, not a Redwyne or Rowan or any other daughter of the Reach. Her father had made that quite clear.

 _She had so nearly succeeded._

She had refused to attend Robb's wedding to that Tarly whore, leaving for Oldtown the day it was announced as a slighted woman. Not only because of the time and effort she had needed to make the Young Wolf _hers_ , but because of the crime in choosing the daughter of a weak house over _her_. Talla Tarly wasn't even beautiful, her features were average at best and her father was a brute, mistakenly made Master of Laws by the oaf on the Iron Throne. She shouldn't have even registered with Robb, she shouldn't even have been _noticed_ next to the glory Ashara projected wherever she went.

 _She shouldn't have been a threat._

It had been after Eddard Greenstark's death, the man passing away in the night from poison according to the smallfolk. Ashara didn't believe it, though Robb and his siblings had - as had Talla, who had 'comforted' the Young Wolf in his pointless grief. It was doubtless that she had granted Robb her breasts to weep into, blessed him with her maidenhood to make a man of him once more. It was the kind of low cunning Ashara should have expected of a lower house, but in her infinite kindness she had imagined that Talla was better than the rest of her kind. That was the only mistake she'd made. It hadn't helped of course when the rest of Robb's family had supported him in marrying her. Lyarra Greenstark had always hated Ashara; a hate returned in force since the Hightower despised the foolish girl's vulgarity and wildness. But she had thought better of Robb's brother Luthor, especially when he had made a sensible marriage to a Rowan - only for him to clap his brother on the back and wish him the best.

 _The best? She was the best, not some Tarly skank!_

Only Janna Tyrell, Robb's mother had seemed displeased with the match - obviously in recognition of the poor choice her son was making. Why the Young Wolf hadn't listened to his mother was beyond her, surely the loss of his father hadn't affected his wits that much?

But Ashara calmed herself. Talla was a weak woman, she would doubtlessly die in childbirth and then Robb would be free to remarry. And then she would be there by his side, ruling over the Reach as was her right. Her father would know that, she would never need to marry another - only wait and bide her time for Highgarden to be _hers_.

 **vi) Robb**

Even with the war going well, Robb still felt the need to mourn what could have been. How could he have known that the Hightowers' would take his rejection of Ashara as badly as they had, even with the woman's own nature. How could he have known that the Redwynes would take his mother's execution as an act of war, despite all the evidence confirming her as his father's murderer? How could he have known that his fellow Reachmen were so mad and so cruel, so obsessed with power that they would break the King's Peace to gain more?

Friends and foe alike called him the Bloody Wolf for his acts in this civil war, many of the latter claiming that he had wanted it in the first place. They named him kinslayer and butcher, they named Lyarra whore and witch, they named Luthor a swordswallower, they named Talla- He wouldn't even think that word. It wasn't her fault that she had lost their child, any more than it was Aunt Lyanna's fault for being raped by Rhaegar the Mad. Any who said differently were his enemies, no matter what he might have once considered them.

He heard the shout of one of his guardsmen from outside and tensed, only relaxing when Steffon Baratheon strode into his tent. He was decked out in gleaming armour as usual, a large warhammer strapped to his back. His father reborn and a worthy King on the Iron Throne. He'd left his own pregnant wife in King's Landing to help Robb with this rebellion, something that he could not be more grateful for even if the main army of the Rebels had been crushed by the time Steffon arrived with reinforcements.

"Still moping?" the Baratheon asked. They had been friends since they were boys, often sparring when Robb accompanied his father to King's Landing and then when he had served King Robert as a squire. Steffon had been the greater warrior of course, but Robb was far more cunning.

"I wouldn't call it moping" Robb muttered, "Planning is a better word." Steffon laughed.

"We planned our attack on Oldtown this morning Robb" he said, "Don't try that excuse again, come out and have a drink!"

But Robb shook his head. "I caused this war, I will not rest until it is finished. I don't...deserve to." Steffon sighed.

"How many times - you didn't cause this, Robb" he said, "It was their ambition, not your...dutiful nature. And desire not to wed a cunt, for that matter. Do not blame yourself, if it wasn't this issue it would have been something else entirely."

"But it still happened under my watch!" Robb said.

"And the Greyjoy Rebellion under my father's" Steffon replied, "You shouldn't blame yourself for other people's actions, your siblings do the exact same thing and look what that led to. Doran Martell still refuses to admit your sister's existence, let alone her marriage to his son!" He smiled. "So have a drink, live a little. We only have a short time before you have to go back to Highgarden and I go King's Landing - we might as well make the best of it!"

Robb smiled...and followed him out of the tent.

* * *

 **The Seven Kingdoms prior to the Deaths of Eddard Stark and Robert Baratheon**

 **The Royal Family**  
 **King of the Iron Throne:** Robert of House Baratheon (called the Usurper, the Demon of the Trident and the Hammer of All Gods).  
 **Queen on the Iron Throne:** Lyanna of House Stark (called the Quiet, the Missing and the Befouled).  
 **Prince of Dragonstone:** Steffon of House Baratheon.  
 **Princess of Dragonstone:** Rhaenys of House Targaryen Martell.

 **Small Council**  
 **Hand of the King:** Eddard 'Ned' Greenstark, High Lord of the Reach.  
 **Master of Laws:** Randyll Tarly, Lord of Horn Hill.  
 **Master of Coin:** Kevan Lannister, Lord of Pyke.  
 **Master of Ships:** Stannis Baratheon, Lord Paramount of the Stormlands.  
 **Master of Whispers:** Wyman Manderly, Lord of White Harbour.  
 **Master at Arms:** Ser Jacelyn Bywater.  
 **Lord Commander of the Kingsguard:** Ser Lewyn Martell.

 **Lord Paramounts**  
 **The North:** Brandon Stark, Lord of Winterfell m. Catelyn Tully.  
 **The Riverlands:** Edmure Tully, Lord of Riverrun m. Roslin Frey.  
 **The Vale:** Robert Arryn, Lord of the Eyrie.  
 **The Iron Islands:** Dissolved following the Greyjoy Rebellion.  
 **The Westerlands:** Jaime Lannister, Lord of Casterly Rock m. Alysanne Lefford.  
 **The Stormlands:** Stannis Baratheon, Lord of Storm's End m. Lorna Swann.  
 **The Reach:** Eddard Greenstark, Lord of Highgarden m. Janna Tyrell.  
 **Dorne:** Prince Doran Martell of Sunspear m. Lady Mellario of Northos.

* * *

 **House Greenstark during the Reach Civil War**

-Eddard Stark m. Janna Tyrell

-Robb Greenstark m. Talla Tarly

-Luthor Greenstark m. Alerie Rowan

-Lyarra Greenstark m. Quentyn Martell


	2. Bonus Chapter

**Bonus Chapter - A few years after iii)Olenna**

 **Highgarden, Capital of the Reach**

"-Paxter can move his scouts around to the western coast, into Westerland territory if necessary. Jaime Lannister will not mind us moving against the Greyjoys as well."

"And I, father?"

"You will head to Oldtown, Robb. Make sure your uncle and Leyton are ready for any attacks that come."

Olenna barely attempted to pretend she wasn't listening in as she climbed the many stairs to the Lord's solar. A Lady's courtesy had no place on a woman of her age, especially when she had a reputation as a 'thorny' old bint, hah! Her granddaughter Lyarra also seemed to have her ears pricked up as she eavesdropped on her father and brother, but made even less effort to hide it - she was no Lady of the Reach, the Blood of Winter flowed through her veins strongest of any of her siblings.

Neither of them bothered to knock when entering, doubtless the sound of the former's cane would have served as its own warning. Father and son each raised an eyebrow, looking almost identical in their amusement despite the latter being his mother's son in looks. Speaking of Janna, she sat on a chair set back slightly from her husband's desk; eyes bright in interest. She greeted Olenna with a smile, Lyarra strutting over to receive and give a hug.

"So what have the Ironborn done this time?" Olenna questioned, trotting along to take another seat - her grandson rushing to prepare one even in full armour.

"Greyshield and Bandilion have received probing attacks" Eddard rumbled, "I fear Balon Greyjoy is planning something big, even with the North and the Riverlands bearing down upon him."

"The Man's a fool" Robb muttered, "Not that we didn't know that, considering he decided to rebel against an entire continent." He snorted.

"An idiot, yes" Olenna agreed, reaching for a glass of wine; "But still a dangerous one - you fear an attack on Oldtown?"

"I do" Eddard replied, "These attacks of his are not random, he's trying to take out anywhere that could be used as a harbour."

"And there's no greater harbour than Oldtown" Lyarra muttered, "Except Lannisport maybe, and we all know how that turned out."

"The Arbor might also be under threat then" Olenna suggested, "Do you expect Paxter Redwyne to defend his own territory well? His greatest achievement was blockading an undermanned castle while an allied army sat outside."

Eddard winced, clearly he remembered poor little Renly Baratheon. "I do, especially when the Royal Fleet is heading that way. But it never hurts to be sure...I'll send Luthor and some of eastern Lords that way when he returns from King's Landing." Olenna nodded approvingly.

"I don't understand why Luthor has to personally go into danger" Janna said, "He's barely fourteen - too young to be put in harm's way; as are you Robb."

"I could go and help..." Lyarra begun.

"No" Husband and Wife said together. Lyarra pouted.

"They need a Greenstark to help morale mother" Robb replied while taking her hand, "If we aren't willing to put our lives on the line, why should they?"

"What Robb says is true" Eddard said, "I would not ask a man to do anything I myself wouldn't do."

Janna sighed. "Be careful then, don't...charge at the enemy undefended."

"He'll have an entire group of soldiers with him Janna, there's no need to worry" Olenna said, "Besides with all the time he spends in the training yard, he could doubtless take anyone from those godsforsaken rocks."

"He will" Eddard said, "I promise."

"As do I" said Robb.

* * *

I originally wrote this as a gift for someone else, but have decided to include it here for the sake of completion. I wouldn't expect anything else for this AU, I'm fairly happy with how it turned out.


	3. Part 2

**Part 2**

 **1) Talla**

 _"And so it goes! And so it goes! As Symond raised his staff; the Dragon raised his claws. And so it goes! And so it goes! The Dragon pounced; the staff was thrust and the Seven reigned again!"_

From her position on the comfort seat, Talla applauded with the rest of her ladies; reserving a small smile for her curtsying niece. Olenna reminded her of her goodmother more every day, though she was thankfully free of the bitterness that had consumed Janna Greenstark in the wake of Robert's Rebellion. She was nothing like her namesake; the old 'Queen of Thorns' had clearly failed to pass on her more aggravating traits to this bright-eyed teen.

"That was spectacular darling!" cried Alerie, Talla's goodsister and Olenna's mother. "Truly wonderful, wouldn't you say girls?"

From over in their corner, the younger Greenstark girls responded to the Rowan's comment; Margaery flashed her sister a thumbs up, while Talla's own daughter absently smiled – grey eyes staring into space. That reaction didn't surprise her, for Lyarra had been born strange; slipping out of her womb with nary a whimper already knowing far too much. This had continued as she grew; for while most girls her age would be content to play "Knights and Princesses", Lyarra had been drawn to the books and scrolls in the Greenstark library. She practically lived in that tower, emerging only for food with pale skin and wide glassy eyes. Like Olenna, she couldn't have been more different from her namesake; Robb's sister and the deceased wife of Quentyn Martell. There was an irony in that, but it was a bitter one for Talla _feared_ for how her only daughter would cope in the world outside Highgarden – outside these sunlit halls and flowery mazes.

For Robb and her both knew what was wrong with Lyarra. They knew the Reachlords would never marry their children to a…to a…

She dared not speak the word. Not here. Not ever if at all possible. The Reach already despised her for her role in the Fall of House Hightower, but they would despise her even more if this shame became known. _That she had conceived and bore and raised a-_

No one would blame Robb for it. He was the Reach's shining lord, the brother-in-arms of King Steffon – and she was **naught** but a **whore** who **dared** to interfere! They would stone her for this…those who still worshipped Ashara Hightower after all she had brought. Damn her. And damn the Seven too for denying her justice!

"Talla?" said a voice.

She shook her head and refocused herself.

"Sorry Alerie" she said; "I must have dozed off there for a second."

"Not to worry" Alerie smiled; "I know the stress of carrying a child; would you like some wine?"

"Perhaps just a glass" Talla smiled. She'd always liked this goodsister more than the other one.

* * *

Walking with a child always seemed to be difficult. Both Rickard and Lyarra had been heavy in the womb and this one felt no different from his siblings. It was only for appearance's sake that Talla hadn't taken up a cane like Robb's grandmother had used to, for weakness – even that brought on by pregnancy and illness – was despised in the Reach. She did however lean on Alerie more than she usually would have done. To those not in the know, it would merely look like the two ladies of Highgarden strolling through the gardens as normal, chatting as they went.

"Olenna really has improved" said Talla; "Especially when you remember that only a year ago Septa Jenny was lamenting her ever managing to make music." Alerie chuckled.

"I told her then what I'll tell you now" she smugly stated; "You just have to get the child to work with you. Let them enjoy what they're doing, rather than forcing them and thereby making them hate it."

Talla doubted this. She'd tried a similar tactic with Lyarra, only for the girl to continue reading her books despite the attention lavished on her by the dancing tutor.

"Hmm" she replied; "I seem to recall you throwing a fit about it in private…"

"That was an entirely different matter" Alerie grimaced; "Luthor and I were having a disagreement over…certain factors." Her fingers twitched; apparently a nervous reaction the tutors of Goldengrove hadn't beaten out of her for being unladylike.

Talla knew not to press the issue. "Have you heard the latest news from the capital?" she asked.

"Which part of it?" Alerie replied; "The stuff about Queen Rhaenys finally birthing a daughter?"

"No silly!" Talla nudged her as best she could; "The rumour about Old King Robert's natural daughter and the Lannister boy. Apparently the Westerland Lords are furious!"

The two of them passed a half-collapsed statue of Garth Greenhand, the white marble cracked and weatherworn in places. Around the statue's feet were several rose bushes, which Robb claimed to be a final slight from the old Tyrells planted after House Gardener had fallen. Talla had joked back that maybe the Tyrell statues should have tiny wolves carved into them as a response.

"What have they actually gone and done?" Alerie asked; "Surely…Gerion? Is that his name?" Talla shrugged. "Surely he's not been stupid enough to go all Jenny of Oldstones."

"Not quite that serious." Talla laughed. Their walk had taken them a long distance now. No one aside from the soldiers ever needed to exercise in the castle of Highgarden, as even a walk from the dining hall to the bedchambers was a long walk. All the castles in Westeros, even Dorne kept the most important areas – those connected directly to the Lord's family – in the centre of the fortifications. Like many fortresses of her size however, Highgarden was big enough that the 'centre' was nearly the size of a normal castle on its own. One could get lost with ease here; which might have been the original intention considering that the Reach had rarely been truly peaceful even prior to the conquest.

Usually Talla wouldn't have allowed herself to walk this distance, not with the child so close to term. But Alerie's presence was enough to chase away the mist somewhat and her strength – powerful even after the birthing of three children – was enough to keep the weaker woman on her feet.

"From what Robb has told me, the heir hasn't actually married the bastard yet" Talla begun; "He has made his intent to marry her clear however, and Jaime Lannister doesn't seem to care enough to smack sense into his son."

"Thank the Seven she was at least legitimised" Alerie muttered; "You'd think the boy would have learnt some sense after what happened to his aunt!" The Lady of Highgarden winced at the thought.

From what the two of them had learnt over the grapevine, Cersei Lannister had always been a proud woman. Her father, the Late Lord Tywin had apparently promised her that she would become queen of Westeros one day; only for that to never happen when Rhaegar the Rapist married Elia Martell and Good King Robert married poor Lyanna Stark. The disappointment must have driven her insane.

Still, the madness of conceiving a child and claiming it as the King's firstborn! It was beyond anyone's understanding; even Aegon the Unworthy would have declared it going too far! Even the popular marriage of Jaime Lannister to the Lefford girl hadn't helped the reputation of the Lions; not with Houses Baratheon, Stark and Martell furious at the suggestion. The bards went as far as stating that the Lord of Casterly Rock had strangled his daughter to death to spare his house further shame, only to die of grief himself nary a month later.

Talla doubted this. She much preferred the story where Jaime Lannister had thrown his sister out a window.

"It remains to be seen if it will come to anything" she said; "It might just be a young boy's fantasy."

Alerie hummed. "Is it known what the bastard – Mya I think – is it known what she thinks about the boy?"

"I wouldn't know" Talla shrugged; "I've never been able to make the trip to King's Landing."

As they passed through a thicket of bright yellow Allamandas, both of the women realised just where their travels had brought them. Ahead of them rose three white trees, which were entwined and affixed to each other to such an extent that they might as well have been one gigantic trunk. The scarlet leaves of the weirwood had formed a gigantic canopy over this hidden meadow in the gardens; a strangely wild and overgrown one for what was called the most beautiful place in Westeros. Talla had always known that this place existed within the castle, but she had never travelled here until now. This was not the home of a Seven-worshipper; it was too cold and too silent. All of the red reminded her uneasily of blood and made a thick bile rise at the back of her throat.

And the face...was all too familiar to her…

Alerie was similarly disturbed, looking around at anything except the main tree with wide eyes and sharp breaths. Her eyes caught on something on the ground before them and so she strode over to pick the object up. It was a flower crown, the kind of toy that young girls would create for princess games or the like.

"A strange selection of flowers…" Alerie muttered.

"Huh?"

"They aren't what I would have used in a flower crown. Pink carnations for a mother's love combined with Chrysanthemums which we use for funerals. And daisies…though I don't remember what those mean."

"It could mean nothing" Talla replied nervously; "It was definitely a child that made that – do you expect them to know anything about flower meanings?"

"No" Alerie murmured, staring up into the eyes of the great wooden face; "But then again, I wouldn't expect them to play _here_ at all." She flinched, straightened and retreated to Talla's side. "It must be this place setting me on edge; let's turn around."

"Let's" Talla agreed. The two of them made their exit through the thicket of Allamandas, their gowns barely dragging on the rough clearing floor.

The flower crown was left abandoned behind them.

 **2) Robb**

"I had hoped the medicine would trigger an improvement in her condition, my Lord" protested the Maester; "I had no way of knowing – this result couldn't be predicted!"

"Are you sure?" growled Robb; "Considering that people have tried to poison members of my family before, you'll forgive me if I am not." He continued to pace his solar, a warm and inviting place high within the Great Keep of Highgarden that currently felt neither warm nor inviting. Indeed, to the poor Maester it felt more like the centre of a vortex.

"I am not your mother, my lord."

"No" Robb allowed, though he not appreciate the reminder of the acts his… _relative_ had committed; "And considering you have served my family well over the years, I do not suspect you Loras. But your suppliers; them I do not trust."

"They serve half the realm."

"From Oldtown, yes" scowled the Lord of Highgarden; "And the city does not like me or my House. This would be the perfect revenge for a friend of the Hightowers."

"But then why would they poison her and not you, my Lord?" asked Loras.

"I am in good health, despite my limp" Robb said; "If I died suddenly, suspicion would be cast throughout the Reach. But Lyarra is still a child, still young enough to fall victim to the common illnesses."

"Do you suspect they know of her condition then?" Loras questioned; "That this is a targeted attempt to make her embarrass herself, and you?"

Robb deliberated. "No" he finally replied; "If they did, word of it would have reached the whole Reach by now. That may be a flaw in my theory."

"I must confess that I think the entire argument is flawed." Robb collapsed into a chair as Loras continued, gently but somewhat firmly; "The Hightowers were loved my Lord, for better or for worse. But they were not this loved, not to the extent where merchants would rise against their lord and potentially their king and risk everything."

"Perhaps" Robb rubbed his head; "Perhaps. It's been too long a week, hasn't it?" He referred not only to the difficulties of Lyarra's…condition, but other problems in his domain as well. Lord Hugor Rowan, younger brother to the Lord of Old Oak was complaining about the trade tariffs 'inflicted' on the rebuilt Oldtown. The Ashwoods were making threatening noises at the Fossoways. Axell (or was it Alestar?) Florent was being pushy _again_ , though he was content that at least would come to nothing.

Oh and the Redwynes were still being their normal silent selves, ensuring that Robb needed to keep a close eye on the Arbor as the case had been since the rebellion. Not to worry; they wouldn't rebel against the 'Bloody Wolf' – _gods, he hated that name!_

"It has indeed, my Lord" replied Loras; "But it will pass. Take pride in the health of your family, I suggest."

"Are my children well?" Robb muttered; "You know of Lyarra's problems, but the others are only marginally better. Rickard will not speak with me; he has taken Talla's passing far too hard. And Randyll, gods – how will Randyll grow up without a mother? Especially when I'm in King's Landing so much of the time? Alerie is doing her best, bless her; but she has her own children to worry over." He chuckled. "Especially with the new one on the way!"

"Both of your sons have the full support of Highgarden behind them, my Lord" Loras said; "An army of servants and septas and maesters – your tame one in particular – dedicated to ensuring their happiness."

But Robb smiled bitterly. "It just isn't the same" he said.

* * *

The Godswood was cold and silent. Untended to by the gardeners, the triple weirwood had grown savage and eldritch; white branches thrusting every which way in the crowded thicket as that face stared ever onwards. Robb didn't like it. This was not his world and _these_ were not his gods.

"What did my father see in you?" he muttered; "What wisdom does a tree hold?"

This was the first time he had visited the Godswood in…was it ten years now?

After dismissing Maester Loras, Robb had made his way to the Sept in search of advice from the Septon who managed the building. But perhaps due to the uneasiness of his mind, he had been unable to find…the _something_ that he been searching for. Perhaps he'd been looking for comfort? The ivory walls and golden windows of Highgarden's Sept had been built for that purpose as much as anything. The kind words of Septon Roran while appreciated, hadn't been enough to pierce the cloud running over his mind.

"And so I came here" Robb muttered; "To a wood in search of answers. Because that's what you're meant to give, right? _Greenseers_ are your business, not the Seven's, not the south's, not _mine_ -"

He glanced around nervously. _If someone had overheard…_

No. He was alone here; well, alone aside from his father's gods and the low howling of the wind. And the crying of the ravens in the trees. Robb grimaced.

He continued to stare at the Heart Tree for what felt like hours, alone in that glade. The Lord of Highgarden remembered when his father had first taken him here, an expedition that ended with him clinging to Eddard Stark's leg in terror. He remembered when he visited here first as a Lord, shortly before he had taken the trip north to place his father in the crypts of Winterfell. Robb remembered the only time he had visited here with Talla, during the short peace of their betrothal.

He had only prayed here once, before now. But…in love for his daughter, Robb offered a quiet wish to the Gods of Old: _'Help her.'_

"Father?"

The Lord of Highgarden turned around…and smiled at the sight of Lyarra, a Reach maiden in green brocade and a sweet floral crown. Outwardly she appeared normal to all the world, aside from the eyes.

"Lyarra" Robb said, his voice rough from the cold; "Aren't you meant to be at lessons, little one?"

His daughter smiled absently. "Septa Anya is down with a fever for the week, so I am excused."

"I hope Anya's illness is not serious" frowned Robb. It was not phrased as a question.

Still, Lyarra answered; "She will be fine come the fourteenth, I think. And she will make a fuss over the three of us – I, Olenna and Margaery – having had nothing to occupy us." She smiled again. "Olenna will tell her not to worry, but then she'll be scolded for a bruise on her cheek."

"Your cousins have been getting into fights again?" Robb sighed; "Typical. Someone will have to warn your uncle."

"Olenna hasn't yet got into that fight father, so I would not worry. It won't happen until the…" Her eyes clouded over for a second, then reformed back into the grey eyes of his father. "Until the eleventh, I think."

Robb grimaced. This, here was exactly what he worried his fellow lords would discover about his daughter. It wasn't so much the idea of having the dreams that worried him, but the shear ease with which she was willing to share them. In the space of a minute, she had already spoken three separate prophecies; all minor details true, but enough for a suspicious vassal to investigate and have the truth revealed to him.

"Have you been taking your 'special lessons' with Maester Marwyn in the meantime?" he asked; "I have not been able to check on your progress with him yet, so how do you think you are doing?"

"Oh, it's wonderful father!" Lyarra exclaimed, her face bright; "Marwyn and I have been pouring over the books he'd taken from the citadel library and they are fascinating! I've learned so much! My dreams have been coming quicker than ever and I can see further as well – even to Essos!" It was hard for Robb not to smile at her genuine happiness, but he needed to know the status of the…other factor before he could congratulate her.

"And how is the other part of your lessons going?" he inquired.

Lyarra paused in her joy. "I've been making an effort…" she muttered. It was extreme, the change that came over her. The smiles had gone, replaced by the solemn expression he had known too well from Talla.

Robb was solemn; "An effort is only a good as the result."

"In the last month, I have only…spoken of my gift when alone, with Marwyn, or…

"Or" Robb pressed.

"…Once in front of Margaery" Lyarra muttered; "It just…slipped out."

"And that is it?"

"Yes father" Lyarra said, her head downcast.

Robb beamed and the clouds broke. "Then, _good._ _Well done!_ Truly, _well done_ ; I could not be more pleased with you." He gestured her into an embrace, which his daughter took gladly. "I confess when I first invited Marwyn; I was worried about the result despite your…suggestion. But now, I am proud of you Lyarra, _well done_."

"Thank you father" Lyarra grinned; "Does this mean I can-?"

"When you and I arrive in the capital, I will personally take you to the market to pick whichever horse you want" Robb said; "The cost will not be an issue."

"The capital?" Lyarra exclaimed.

"Yes" Robb nodded; "I think it is high time one of my children was reintroduced to Steffon, since he has not seen you since you were a baby. It will be…potentially problematic for you, if you are not careful – but as long as you continue to act wisely, everything will go fine. Marwyn may come with you, if he wishes."

Lyarra beamed.

Robb turned serious for a second once again. "They will not accept your gifts Lyarra, you do understand that?" he said; "The Seven despise magic of our ancestors' kind."

" **They will have to soon enough** " Lyarra remarked coldly; " **For winter is coming; and this will be such a winter that the world has rarely seen.** "

Robb drew back; " _What_?" That had not been his daughter's voice speaking, but he recognised it all the same…

"Uh" the girl shook her head; "Did I say something?" Her voice was once again normal, if confused.

The Lord of Highgarden stared at her, before quietly replying "No. Everything is fine, Lyarra. Come, let's get you something to eat."

There would be time to ruminate later.

 **3) Rickard**

"I wish I knew her better" murmured the heir to House Greenstark.

His sister said nothing, as usual.

The two of them were standing beneath one of the many statues in the castle of Highgarden, sprinkled like seeds throughout the gardens and towers of the complex. Most of them were made of a white marble imported from the Westerlands, though a few such as the one before them were carved from a dark shade brought from the hills of Pentos. It was a very expensive stone as a result, for the journey from Pentos to the centre of the Reach was a long and awkward one.

But Robb Greenstark had refused to spare any expense when it came to immortalising his beloved wife. Rickard's mother looked happy to have been honoured in such a way, though the statue bore none of the warmth that he distantly remembered. The stonemason had depicted her at the time of her wedding, before the strains of pregnancy and stress had begun to affect her health. Despite that she wore a gown of the post-rebellion style and her hair was in the elegant braids of an older woman. Clearly the mason hadn't been too obsessed with accuracy.

Still, his father seemed to appreciate it. The Lord of the Reach was kneeled before the statue, accompanied by only his brother as he offered a prayer to the Seven. This was the Stranger's Day, a day upon which all the righteous people of the world offered their love and joy for those who had already passed into the Seven Heavens. The day only came once a year, like with most of the specific faith holidays – though the ceremony would often be extended into a week of festivity in memory of the deceased. In the homes of the smallfolk, that might mean taking a small holiday or working for a shorter period per day. With the nobility it meant the preparation of large feasts and balls, with the celebrations becoming larger and louder depending on the wealth and power of the House. In previous years the Lords of Highgarden had always taken this opportunity to show off, by preparing a special dish from some far corner of the world. This year it was a selection of fruit from the Summer Islands, washed down with copious amounts of Arbor Gold.

Rickard didn't care about that however. Seeing his father again, even for an occasion like this was a reward in itself. Damn the King for 'needing' him in King's Landing for so much of the year – if he was really father's friend, then he would have come to Highgarden himself and not demanded the opposite!

Across from Talla were perched several other of the more recent Highgarden statues. Eddard the 'Green' Stark was the largest of them, severe and strong in the way that the man had apparently been. None of Rickard's generation knew this for certain, since they had never met their grandfather before his untimely poisoning. A small statue of a child had been erected behind Eddard's statue, carved with the name 'Willas'. To this day, Rickard had no idea who it was meant to be, though his sister had christened it 'the unlucky rose' for some reason known only to her.

Next to Rickard stood the cause of Talla Tarly's death, little Randyll. A boy of three who did not understand the importance of what he was stood before, but did understand how interesting his nose was. Only Lyarra's hand prevented him from running off.

Rickard's fist clenched at the sight. He would have much rather had his mother back, than be stuck with either of his siblings. An insane girl and a hopeless midget; was this really what the line of the Bloody Wolf had fallen to? You would think that the Hightowers had actually succeeded in putting their _whore_ in Highgarden!

"Sorry we're late!" announced a voice; far too cheerful for this sort of occasion. Rickard didn't bother to look around, for he already knew who the voice belonged to. His cousins ran up to stand beside him and his siblings, both Olenna and Margaery grinning and panting heavily. Judging by how askew their dresses were, they had not been behaving in the way ladies of Highgarden should. Plus, the elder one was sporting a black eye and a smirk.

There was definitely a story behind that. And by his aunt's long sigh and quiet chiding from where she was sat with little Eddard, it was one they were all familiar with.

Rickard's father rose from where he had been kneeling and gestured for the Septon of Highgarden – a man named Bendrick – to come forward for his part in the memorial. Robb Greenstark himself returned to stand by his children, his left leg limping from an old wound. He placed a comforting hand on Rickard's shoulder. His other hand reached down to pat Randyll on the head, since the boy had let go of his sister to seek out his father.

"How are you feeling?" he asked, with a low and gentle voice.

"Annoyed" muttered Rickard.

"Annoyed?" Robb questioned.

"They aren't taking it seriously, father" Rickard replied; "Olenna and Margaery, Lyarra and Randyll – they don't understand how important this is." Robb smiled.

"That is because they are young, Rickard-" he began.

"Olenna and Lyarra are older than I am!" interrupted the boy.

"Let me finish" laughed his father; "They are young and innocent, as are you for the most part. But they have never known true loss. _They cannot comprehend it as you or I can._ It shall not always be this way, for childhood ends and innocence _dies_ – but while it exists, let it exist. All men remember their childhood well when the hard days come, the memories will serve them well."

"It's still not right" Rickard argued; "They should realise something is up! Randyll and Lyarra-"

"Randyll was a babe when his mother died, Rickard. And Lyarra-" he hesitated; "Lyarra is dealing with her grief in her own way." His eyes bore into the boy's skull. "I would not have you press them for a reaction, _that_ would be cruel and unbefitting for-"

"For the heir to Highgarden" Rickard muttered; "I know."

" **No** " Robb replied; "It would be unbefitting _for my son_." He studied Rickard for a moment and then smiled. "After this is done, walk the battlements with me. I think a talk will do both of us good."

* * *

"How are your studies?" asked his father, eyes studying Rickard with intensity. The two of them now were now striding around the outer wall of the citadel of Highgarden, one step above the hedge mazes that encircled the entire castle. Rickard scampered along in the Lord of Highgarden's wake, following his example in nodding respectfully to every guard and servant they passed. The memorial service had taken up the best part of the day and so both the Greenstarks were wrapped up in luxurious fur cloaks to keep the cold at bay. Even so, their breath rose in a fine mist before them.

"Fine, I guess" Rickard muttered. This wasn't what he'd expected his father to talk about at all, but now the man wished to quiz him on everything. If he'd been around more often, he might already know!

"Maester Garth tells me your skill with numbers has really taken off" Robb exclaimed; "He was most pleased when I asked after you."

"Hmph" Rickard huffed. His father had asked though letters undoubtedly, as he always did. He sent more letters than anyone else he could imagine; whether they were to King's Landing, or back home, or to various vassals, or to strange places up north…

The Lord of Highgarden sighed. "Rickard…you know I cannot always be here. When the King asks, you do not refuse him without cost. Especially after all the help Steffon gave me in dealing with the Hightower revolt." His brow furrowed at the memory.

"I know."

"Do you?" he asked. He stopped walking, instead beckoning Rickard over to sit beside him on a wall. From this spot, the great Mander River was visible beyond the distant trees; a great golden snake in the setting sun. Robb continued; "I know the last few years have been awkward for you… _truly_ , I know. I grew up with my father absent for much of my childhood, for Robert Baratheon was as good friends with your grandfather as I am with his son. And my father was his Master of Laws, just as I am Steffon's Hand."

"I know, _father_ " Rickard grunted.

"Do you?" Robb asked; "If you refuse to talk to me-"

"It's not that you're away so often" Rickard interrupted, the words pouring out of him like a river bursting it's banks; "I know the King _'needs'_ you. I know you can't refuse him. I just…" His throat felt sour and raw. "I just wish you brought me with you! I don't want to be stuck here; with _them_!"

"King's Landing is no place for a boy" Robb said; "The vipers of the capital are not kind-"

"Highgarden isn't either, father!" Rickard cried; "I don't have anyone to talk to, at all! Olenna and Margaery are too old or too silly, Lyarra travels to the capital with you and Randyll is a _kinslayer_ -"

"Randyll is **not** a kinslayer, Rickard!" snapped the Lord of Highgarden; "Do not dare to call him that ever again, _ever_! He is your brother, your full-blooded brother!"

"He killed mother!" Rickard cried; "He-"

" **He did not."** Rickard shied from his father's glare; the glare of the Bloody Wolf, the burner of the Hightower, the breaker of the Ironborn. But when Robb finally spoke again it was with a whisper; "We cannot decide the way we are born, my son. Has anyone…told you of how your aunt was born?"

The boy was curious. "No?"

"I suppose that's just as well, for it's not a nice story. When Lyarra came to be born, the Maesters and Wet-nurses discovered that my mother – _Janna Tyrell_ – was unable to push her…'out'." Rickard was quietly amused to discover that his father's 'eww' face was identical to his own; but he didn't say anything for his father quickly continued. "My mother, for all her _faults_ was not one to let her own child die if she could prevent it; so she ordered the Maesters to…um, cut her open and bring Lyarra out that way."

"They cut her open?" Rickard was horrified. And grossed out!

"Yes" Robb nodded; "It's a beyond risky operation; seven times out of ten the mother will die. Four times out of ten the baby will join her. But my mother agreed nonetheless. Do you know why?"

"Because she loved her child?"

"Yes" Robb nodded; "And here is the thing; if Talla, your mother was in the same situation I have no doubt that she would have done the same thing – for you, or Lyarra, or for Randyll."

That was it for a few minutes. The two of them sat in comfortable silence overlooking the darkening fields of the Reach. Occasionally a guard or servant would walk by, but for the most part it was just a father and his son standing against the dark.

"I think I understand" Rickard said; "Randyll was truly not-?"

"He was a babe" Robb replied; "As was Lyarra."

"Then I have treated him cruelly" Rickard muttered; "Not as a brother should."

"It isn't too late to change that. I have faith in you." His father smiled. After a moment, so did Rickard. "On a lighter note, perhaps I have been a bit impersonal with your education."

Rickard turned to look at him confused, but his father continued to smile.

"I know for a fact that the King needs a new squire, if you're interested. And Ormund Baratheon is only slightly older than you, so I suppose you might get on..."

 **Children of Robb Greenstark and Talla Tarly**

\- Lyarra Greenstark

\- Rickard Greenstark

\- Randyll Greenstark

 **Children of Luthor Greenstark and Alerie Rowan**

\- Olenna Greenstark

\- Margaery Greenstark

\- Eddard Greenstark


End file.
